Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
This shit is Scary Central on steroids.
Sharp black tuxes, strong, shapely jaws, and height so imposing it seems genetically impossible for this many guys in one room to possess it, are the most common, immediate themes. My stomach churns as they pick out women with their eyes, calling them over without taking even a step in our direction. Maybe it’s the comfort of familiarity—or maybe it’s something else—but I’m drawn strongly toward Cal.
His safety. His comfort. His protection.
If I’m supposed to be talking to one of these guys, I want it to be him.
He stands in the far back corner of the ballroom, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a hard set in his jaw. He looks incredibly handsome—he always did, even as a kid—but he also looks angry. My system wars with the dichotomy, but my legs keep moving.
I’m halfway to him when a voice I can’t quite place fills my ears, giving me a polite order. “Please. Don’t come to me first.”
When I stop cold, Cal’s eyebrows lift noticeably.
“Can you hear me?” he asks, this time much more clearly. It’s startling because at this distance and with the complete lack of volume—it’s not like he’s shouting—there’s no way I should be able to hear him.
But I can.
Somehow.
I nod shakily, trying like hell not to freak out. I mean, this is weird. How in the world can I hear him talking to me from this far away? Because of fate, my mind whispers.
“Good. That’s good,” Cal tells me. “I know it’s probably scary, but I need you to trust me. And if you can’t do that, trust the boy you once knew, okay?”
Visions of the way Cal was when we were kids—kind, quiet, observant—do the impossible and overrun the very palpable fear of this ballroom. They take me to the playground outside school, where I cornered Cal at the top of a slide for a kiss. He’d been startled—I was three years younger than him and barely on his radar—but from that moment forward, he’d been careful with me. He spoke softly. He smiled back. He listened when I jabbered, even if he had nothing to add at all.
All the questions I have about why he’d be here, at this undefinable, most horrible place, and his promised forthcoming explanation fade to the background, and the instinct to trust him to protect me takes over. I don’t understand it—probably because it makes no sense, given I haven’t known anything about him since we were thirteen and ten respectively—but just like I told him last night, I do trust him.
Because it’s Calloway Slater.
Because…you belong to him just as much as you’ve always felt he belonged to you.
“Okay,” I ask almost inaudibly, hoping he’ll be able to hear me too and trying not to move my lips like I’m some kind of ventriloquist. “So…who should I talk to?”
“The women,” he says quickly, turning to face a different direction. To the average onlooker, we don’t look like we’re engaged with each other at all, and I get the sense that’s the way he wants it. “If a vampire calls you over, go, but do your best to keep your answers surface-level. And do not, whatever you do, mention knowing me.”
“I don’t like this.” It’s a simple statement from an overwhelmed woman with no options but to comply. I want to complain more. To beg for an explanation or talk him into running out of this room and never looking back. But I can’t.
Not here. Not now.
Maybe not ever.
“I don’t like it either,” he replies, and for the first time since he started our conversation, I’m really not sure if the words are meant for me or for himself.
Spinning slowly, I look for a woman to be a lifeline and find Abigail first. Her expression is hopeful as she waits for a man to pay her interest, and her bright fuchsia gown does its job by standing out.
I don’t want to get noticed, but maybe if I’m hiding behind her, she’ll be a buffer of sorts.
It’s hard because she’s so focused on the men, but eventually, I catch her eye. I move toward her, only stopping when I’ve put her body between me and the men. “Hey, thanks again for the extra schedule.”
“No problem,” Abigail says, putting her back to me and smiling at a huge man with an imposing scar over his eyebrow.
“I enjoyed chatting with you at lunch and the—”
When he smiles back at her, she lets out a little squeal and interrupts me bluntly. “Sorry. I’m being summoned.”
I sigh, not bothering to say anything to her retreating form as it picks up to a jog.
The crowd of women is dwindling now, and the safety-in-numbers game is becoming more and more impossible. I try to hide behind a group of women I haven’t met before, but within thirty seconds, they’re all long gone.